


the mediocrity of mine (and the beauty of yours)

by iamriamalhotra



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Prostitution, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 05:21:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29326935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamriamalhotra/pseuds/iamriamalhotra
Summary: there is a rent boy in the dirty streets of brooklyn whom sehun loves like a dying man loves life.
Relationships: Kim Jongin | Kai/Oh Sehun
Comments: 20
Kudos: 71
Collections: Top Sehun Fest Round 1





	the mediocrity of mine (and the beauty of yours)

**Author's Note:**

> my entry for top! sehun fest. :D

The first time that he sees him, it's a blur image; nothing that he sees gives rise to an extraordinary sight nor an imagination, but he is there--and yet, the blur sight of him knocks breath out of his chest. He peers over the rim of his glasses when the car comes to an unexpected halt, thanks to the traffic ahead, and finds a lonely figure sitting on the edge of the window, looking up at the sky; lost and demure in a world as theirs. There's an unbidden air about him that Sehun wants to feel and study. He watches him, and finds himself lost right that second; it feels like there’s a call of some kind, a voice asking him to step ahead and see for himself what has made this boy so miserable. Yet, when the traffic clears, he passes one last glance, and drives away; heart beating rapidly in his chest, he wonders if he ever knew what he feels now before; the answer is ‘never’, and so he finds himself lost even in his dreams. 

During the class next time around, he focuses on his students’ concerns over the upcoming exams, and yet he finds himself distracted every two seconds; it is confusing, for he never even saw a face, much less a beautiful, memorable one, that he finds himself so stuck to the sheer ecstasy of catching a sight of him all over again. When the hours at the University are over, he drives past the streets again, hopes against all hopes that he would find the boy again, and hopes that none of the faculty members see him roaming around this part of the street; for what? for a sight of someone whose sight he has never been graced with. 

This time around, he finds the boy looking out of the window and over the bustling streets. This time he catches the true sight of him--though still somewhat disoriented, Sehun realises he has never caught sight of anyone as precious and of refined beauty as of this young man. With heart in his throat, he dares to cross the street and stand at the bottom of the four floored building, and looks up to find beautiful, curious eyes fixed on him; from here, he cannot say what color they are, but he knows they’re beautiful with the way they’re shaped and curve in curiosity; his complexion, golden in its sheer beauty, shines under the yellow lighting of the streetlights; his mouth, a pretty curve of soft petals, are beautiful to look at, too. From here, Sehun thinks his beauty is a standard. What is he doing here comes into his mind next, and when the realisation of what this boy is hits him, he staggers in his steps, turns around, and then leaves. There’s nothing in his chest; no sort of resentment, anger, jealousy, or disgust; all he wants to do is give freedom to this baby bird, and then cage him in his own arms instead--if the boy wishes for such. 

He shares his thoughts and fears with a close friend, the close friend tells him he is sucked into an abyss he wouldn’t come out anyway, so why not go and hit it already and check if the emotion that he is feeling is exactly what it is, and what it shouldn’t be lest he wants to get in serious troubles. He thanks his friend for his useless advice, and they drink together, and in his dreamless state, he dreams of a boy whose face he yet has to see clearly. 

The next time around, a week later, he walks into the whorehouse, and asks for the boy; he has no name, and so points to the room he last saw him in. The man, sitting at the counter--perhaps a ‘receptionist’ of some sort--informs him that the boy will be down only in the evening; he has had a rough and needs time for healing. He swallows the shame and anger that crawls up his skin then, and waits like a child waiting for his trophy for the next several hours. When it’s past late evening, and the whorehouse is bustling with innumerable customers, mostly men from their late twenties to early forties, the ‘receptionist’ stares at him for a long time, and smirks. He asks him what the heck he is thinking, the man answers with a gravel voice, 

“I have seen ya in the rich parts of the city,” the man says, “you’re the professor of --yeyeo university, aren’t ya?” 

“Yes,” he answers, uncertainly. 

“Nie,” he says, “has never failed to attract rich, good looking men; he is the reason why this business is flourishing like never before.” He sips on his whiskey, and assigns the next customer a girl. “He is the soft kind. Do whatever ya want to do with him, he will take everything like it’s a blessing. It’s in his nature, to submit.” 

Sehun clenches his jaw and looks away, fighting with himself to not feel the anger he has started feeling at the lecherous use of the words. “When is he going to come down?” 

“Anytime now, he must be getting ready.” 

While he waits for the boy, he thinks that ‘Nie’ must be the name of the boy he has been wanting for some time now; the name sounds adorable to him, and such is what he thinks until the boy comes down and stops in front of him, shyly and demurely. He. Stops. Breathing. Stops. Thinking. In. Sentences. He. Stops. Completely. The boy, Nie perhaps, gives him a hand. Sehun, entranced by the sight of him, takes it in his own; marvels at the difference between the sizes, the complexion, and the delicacy of the boy’s hand and the callousness of his own. He kisses the boy’s hand; the boy, in return, smirks and flushes red. 

“Would you mind coming into my room?” He asks, softly, almost breathily. 

Sehun swallows, and without a word follows him. In the dimly lit room, the boy turns to him and asks what he wants. Sehun, still silenced by the sheer impact of his beauty and presence on him, remains silent to the next minute. The boy never shows any sign of impatience. He remains demure, shy, and soft under the weight of his gaze. When he asks again, curiously this time, softer than before, what he wants, Sehun tells him his name, “Oh Sehun.” 

The boy’s mouth forms an ‘o’, Sehun thinks it’s the prettiest. “Is that your real name?” 

“Yes,” he answers, and stalks towards him. He hovers over him, and wonders if he can touch him at all. “How about you?” 

“Nie,” the boy answers. 

“That’s not your real name, is it?” 

The boy simpers, “perhaps it is not. How would you know?” He raises a hand and places it on Sehun’s chest; his fingers twitch where they are, as if taking a feel of what’s behind his expensive suit. 

“Am I not yet deserving?” 

“Don’t be upset. No one is special yet.” He tilts his head. “How do you want me?” 

“I want to sleep,” he answers instead. 

“Sleep?” The young boy repeats, “after… sex, right?” He flushes as he says the words, Sehun wonders if he still has the innocence left that he shouldn’t have. “You have paid for it.” 

“Not for sex,” he answers bluntly, “I have paid to sleep with you. Just sleep.” He takes the boy’s hand in his own. “Let’s come. I want to sleep.” 

The boy, wide-eyed, confused, and perhaps amused looks at him in a funny way. He perhaps thinks Sehun is loose in the head. “I don’t understand. Have you not paid for it?” 

“The men below think I have. You think I have. But, I have paid just to sleep with you. I want to--” he stops, and blinks and feels stupidly vulnerable when he continues--“I want to hold someone.” 

The boy flushes, ducks his head low, yet Sehun catches the similar feeling on his face. “Alright, it’s your time, your money. Whatever you wish.” He brings Sehun to the bed. When Sehun sits down, he crawls on his lap, and rubs his hands over Sehun’s thick shoulders. Sehun, stupidly silent, flushes and flushes more, and feels his heart back in his throat. “Do you want to sleep with me on your lap? I can do that, too. I can sleep anywhere, in any way.”

Sehun brings his hands to grab him around his waist; it's dainty, small, and a hundred different things that Sehun has no word for. “You can sleep however you want to sleep,” he says, sheds out of his jacket and lies down. The boy lies over him. “I don’t mind it,” he adds. 

When his friend hears about him, he laughs like an asshole that he is, he bangs his head on the table, swears and then laughs again. 

"You paid a thousand dollars to sleep with the boy? Are you fucking kidding me, man." 

Sehun rolls his shoulders, and then snaps shut his lunch box. His friend follows him out of the cafeteria. "I know you don't understand it yet. But he's gorgeous. He's stunning. He has my heart, and I don't want him to feel bad about himself. I don't want him to think it's all about his face and his body." 

"He's a whore," his friend says, bluntly. "That's the truth." 

"He's beautiful. I want to give him everything that I have and do not have." 

Chris, his friend, narrows his eyes at him. "How long have you been seeing him?" 

"Not long. Only a couple of times."

"Look at you! At least listen to yourself, man! I don't want to be the bad guy in this, but I just want you to know it's not the path you should venture if you don't know anything about your own emotions. He's a whore. He works in a whore house. He's no one's." 

"Stop calling him that." 

"My not calling him what he is won't change the truth." His friend pats him on his shoulder. "If you want to take him, I am with you. But, when it hurts, don't come to me. I won't be any help. I am an asshole." 

"That you are." 

His friend laughs, and so the words don't matter. Not like he actually meant them either. Chris is a good man, but he doesn't believe in fantasies; neither he believes in it, nor allows anyone else to believe in them either. He's blunt to a fault, and he wants people he adores to live in reality. Helping a young man who employs himself in prostitution must have sounded to him cliche and fantasy-like, and perhaps that he why he wants him to come back to his senses. 

Though he understands what his friend means, and he means well, he still thinks about the young man, and how good it felt when he held him in his arms; so small and dainty, soft and curvy was he in his arms; as if he belonged there. It's indeed cliche, and yet he thinks about him days and nights. When he wakes up at ungodly hours at night, it's with an ache and knowledge that he doesn't have him yet. 

He tells himself perhaps if he does not see that face for some time, his heart will stop yearning for someone that it shouldn't, and so avoids that way for a complete month. It's agonizing. It's painful. He vomits several times, because lying to himself has never been easy. Yet, when the month has barely passed, and it has been only a few minutes after it, he runs back into the whore house and asks for the young man. This time around, he's busy with a client, and Sehun cannot have him on this day. The client has booked him for the whole day and the whole night. 

Sehun walks out of that building, and avoids going there for some days. Although it is a stubborn decision, he still feels pained and alone in ways that should make him laugh because he has never considered himself lonely, even in the years he has lived alone in his too big flat. 

The next week, exactly five days later, he visits the whore house again. This time he finds the young man, scantily dressed, in the parlour. He swallows at the sight of him; so beautiful in his appearance; long haired, glowing skin, pouty mouth yet lonely eyes; that he takes his attention and keeps it to himself. He stays standing outside the parlour, and stares at the half dressed, obnoxiously sexy in sight, young man like a creep. 

"Oh," the man who met him time exclaims to him, "ya came back!" He grins, and claps his hands. "Have you come back for Nie? If ya have, then ya lucky! He's free the entire day. Be quick in ya payment before someone else buys him for the day." 

Upset at the degrading words that he uses to describe the young man, he doesn't look at him. He tears his gaze away from the young man as well. "I want him." Wanting the young man like this, buying his time, has always seemed wrong to him; as if something so… something that he can't describe; giving money in return for some hours. Sehun never thought he would ever find himself in a situation such as this. 

When they get into the room again, the young man peers through his thick eyelashes and at him. "You have come back," he says, shyly. 

“Yeah,” he answers, and rubs a hand on his nape. The young man, Nie, walks up to him, all pretty and demure. Sehun never knew he liked his boys like that; the realisation is almost a whiplash, yet he restrains himself from saying or doing anything that might upset this young man, and thus foils whatever is possible between them. “I bought you something,” he gives the bag to the young man. “You can see it, it’s yours," he adds carefully when the young man hesitates.  
  
Nie opens it finally, peers through the items in the bag, and then looks up, shocked and surprised in ways that sends delight through his veins. He swallows, and hopes his heart stops beating and his mind stops coming with all the ways with which he can make this young man, so soft an appearance, wide eyed and softer around all the edges, even though he is already too soft to the eyes. 

"It's," he says in a small voice, "Gucci." 

"Do you keep updated about their products?" 

"No, I just," his voice turns shier, "see them in the magazines. Models wear them." 

"Yeah," he says and swallows, and then walks up to the young man. "This is a gift from me to you. I saw it and thought you will make it look a hundred times prettier." 

The young man blushes, Sehun is sure he has curled his toes inside his heeled boots. Sehun wants to kiss his feet and see his reactions and all the delights that he knows he will find on that pretty face. "Can I?" He asks softly, peering through his eyelashes and at him, asking for his approval. 

"You definitely will," he swallows. "How about you show me now?" 

"Of course." He tilts his head to the side, his curious eyes fixed on him. "Do you want to have… sex this time or not?" 

His hands twitch to hold him, but he stops himself. Perhaps this is not the right time, he tells himself. "No," he answers decisively, "I want you to wear that and show me. We'll sleep then." 

The young man looks disappointed, his eyes fall on his arms and his shoulders for a second before he looks back at his face. "Whatever you like," he says softly. 

He purposefully rolls his thick shoulders, and watches in satisfaction as fascination crawls up the young man's eyes. It's beautiful, this delicacy and this trust in him in want for a desire that only some provide at such length that it's unforgettable. The young man flushes and leaves him alone while he goes into the bathroom to change into the attire he has bought for him. Sehun waits, seated on the bed, for him. 

When the young man finally comes out, after much long minutes of ten, Sehun tells himself that he was not wrong when he thought of the young man when he first came across this top; it's a crop top, purposefully cut at the bottom, in such a careless way as if he a child ran scissors over it, and yet there's a class in the outfit that this young man brings. The colourful crop top looks beautiful against his skin, almost as if it was made for none but him. Sehun believes it to be true as well. 

He gets up, and stalks his way to the young man. Nie remains slightly curled in front of him, in his shy appearance. He brings his hands and places them on the young man's waist, the skin so smooth that he barely holds himself back from the want to touch everything that belongs to this gorgeous human being. He runs his hands on the smooth skin, and over the beautiful curves of his waist, and then rubs a thumb over the cute mole on his stomach. It's beautiful. He's beautiful. So beautiful that he takes away his breath and leaves him yearning for more of him. 

"Is it good?" 

"More than good," he breathes, and then asks the young man to turn around. He does. Sehun, now, freely runs his hands over the exposed skin of his back. The young man sighs under the gentle ministrations of his rough, calloused hands, and his skin reddens beautifully within seconds. Sehun thinks he's the prettiest. He asks him to turn back around. "It's beautiful. You look stunning."

The young man blushes but says nothing. 

"Do you like it?" 

"I do." He looks up at him through his lashes. "Thank you." 

"Welcome." He finds himself distracted. "I can… give you anything you want," he whispers softly, "anything and everything. Whatever is mine will be yours." He picks him up his arms, the young man willingly remains curled against his chest. Perhaps the receptionist was right; perhaps this young man is the softest he will ever come across; it's a delightful thought, and it sends shivers down his spine. "You just have to say it." He depoists him on the bed, and hovers over him. There’s a beautiful flush on his face, and it spreads down his neck and somewhere down his clothes; every part of Sehun itches to see the path himself. The young man parts his mouth at him, and it’s such a beautiful sight to him; those lips, petals like soft and succulent. He wants to kiss him so bad, he thinks, and it’s getting harder to keep his desires confided to himself. 

“That’s very flattering of you, Sehun,” he whispers, still soft. 

God, his voice, he thinks. 

“Why don’t you want to have… sex?” The young man asks, curiously. There’s a tilt of disappointment on the curves of his mouth, Sehun’s eyes fall over and over on his mouth; it’s so pretty, he thinks in a faraway thought. “Every customer here comes from it, even those who are generous in their nature.” 

He gets off him and sits next to his lying frame. When he tries to get up, Sehun asks him to stay right where he is, as he is. He wants to watch him like this; the sight that he makes is another kind of story; it leaves him bereft of breaths, and yet he finds his eyes fixed stubbornly on the curves of his pretty frame. He brings his hand to run it over the young man’s bare waist. The young man flushes further. “I am not like other… customers,” he cringes as he says the word, “I don’t want what you give them, not yet at least. I want to give you. Everything. Whatever you want. Whatever makes you happy. Whatever makes you feel prettier, confident, comfortable. Everything.” 

“You want to be my sugar daddy,” the young man says, breathless, eyes on him. 

He swallows, as if shamed at being called out. “I could not help but want to be one for you.” He places a huge hand over the dainty curve of his waist. 

“You’re not the first one to want that,” the young man grins, as if he knows exactly what would upset him, “a lot of men want the same. There are two men who persist. Want to know their names?” He does not wait for him, and demurely and bravely gets up to crawl into his lap. 

“Zhang Yixing, a Chinese patron; a loyal customer of mine, he has never visited any other… whore but me. He has been my customer for five years already, he wants to be my daddy too, and he always gets to be one. He is the owner of the biggest Chinese Entertainment company, he’s got a lot of money on him, and he gives a lot to me--in a lot of ways,” his fingers, Sehun thinks past the haze of jealousy and anger, smooth over his thick shoulders before he slowly removes them from there to run over his thick biceps. “The other one, Kim Minseok is a military man. He does not often come here, he’s a military man, he’s busy. But, he comes here directly whenever he can. He is a loyal customer, too, and has been for more than two years already. He wants that, too; in fact, he likes it more than Yixing does. His passion is to dress me up in riches, and he's got a lot of money too." The young man brings his hands to rub him over his neck, his breath over his lips, eyes yearning.

“What have you got for Nie, daddy?” 

He has got a lot; he has two apartments on rent in the richest parts of Seoul; he's got three apartment in Brooklyn and one in New York City, all rented to rich people; he's got a penthouse of his own; his salary is in thousands of dollars; and he drives Maserati; he's got all. Perhaps more than the Minseok guy at least, who frequents Jongin, and is the Colonel if not this Yixing. 

Yet, he tells Nie, as he keeps calling himself, "I've got nothing." 

The surprise that crosses his fine features is almost precious, and Sehun cherishes the adorable confusion on his face. "Nothing?" He repeats, eyebrows pinched together. 

"No," he answers, firmer this time, "I don't have anything but hope." 

Nie's hands slip past his biceps to his muscled chest. "What is that supposed to mean?" He softly asks, as his fingers trace the contours of his chest and built stomach. "Are you poor?" He asks, rather bluntly, and it would have made him laugh if he hasn't been as serious as he is. 

"In luck, yes." He swallows, "I still have to get you." 

The flush that works up the young man's face is beautiful, and it's stunning. Sehun adores his beauty so much, he does not have a word for it. "I am no one's," Nie answers, sounding unconcerned and unaffected by his own words, but Sehun has been an avid professor for so long he can hear the tremor, the sadness, and the devastation behind and between the words; "no one even knows my real name. I am no one's but mine. However, I am flattered." He smiles shyly at him; it’s a precious little curve of his petals-like mouth. Sehun wants to kiss him so badly, he thinks he will die with the sheer desire and intensity of it. 

Later, Chris laughs at his face. Sehun rolls his eyes at his friend. “I can’t believe it,” he says between his fits of loud guffaws, “he actually said that you. Dude, he just humiliated you!” 

“He did not,” he replies and shifts on his chair. The class is about to start, and he wants his friend out of his classroom. “Get out now. I have a class.” 

“What? You gonna grade the kids’ grades with a mind as busy as yours?” 

He huffs. "I am focused." 

Chris leans a little into him. "Focused on exactly what, Sehun? the grading or the young man." Chris, most of the time, sees through him. The bastard got the habit of doing so some long time ago, and hasn't stopped since. He must be getting a kick out of it. “You know you’re not really good at subtlety,” he stops and leans back to cross his arms over his chest, “others don’t know that, but I do. You’re like an open book to me by now, Sehun.” 

Sehun remains silent, and to prove his friend wrong intentionally grades a few papers in silence. 

“Why can’t you find someone like Serena, my girlfriend? She does not come with even half the problem as your boy does.” 

Serena is a beautiful woman of twenty-six; she’s almost as perfect as Sehun’s imagination of a perfect woman can go; she’s independent, she’s a chef at the renowned Hotel in New York City, and she is a learner, she keeps learning and she does not stop at just one or two things. She’s perfect, as close as someone can come to perfect at least. However, she or anyone like her has never been his type, and his keen interest in a particular rent boy proves so. He does not even know his real name and his surname, if he has one (he wants to give the young man his). 

When he visits him the next time, he hears that Colonel Kim Minseok has come and he has asked for the young man’s time for two complete days; from the morning to the night, night to the morning, and then morning to the night. It sets some kind of anger in his veins, enough that his vision clouds in anger, and his heart feels heavy with the pain and acceptance that comes with the truth that the rent boy who he has so much of his attention and admiration on, belongs to anyone who can afford his time--and it always seems like a lot of people manage to do so, even though the price of even a few hours is in hundreds of dollars. He paces around the room, much to the annoyance of the man who always sits on the reception table, and then stops at once. 

“Do people working here have to pay an amount to leave this place?” 

The man tilts his head at him. “Yeah. Everyone working here either owes something to us or has come on their own.” 

“This young man--Nie, how much does he owe you?” 

The man leans back on the chair and crosses his arms over his chest. “Where are you going with this?” 

He slaps a hand on the table. “I just want to know does he owe you any money?” 

“Of course, he does! He owes us in thousands of dollars.” 

“How much?” He asks curiously. 

The man smirks. “Ninety-seven thousand dollars,” he answers, the grin wide on his lips. “He’ll keep earning for at least a couple more years to return that much money.” 

Ninety-seven thousand dollars? The heck did he do, he wonders. “If,” he licks his lips and looks up at the stairs that lead to the young man’s room. “If he pays that, you’ll allow him to leave?” 

The man shrugs. “We don’t hold anyone back when they have paid us. We don’t force anyone here. It’s a free business.” 

Sehun swallows. He thinks he knows what is to be done now. He nods at the man, and quickly pulls out a pocket diary from his pants. He writes his number down. “When he’s… done with Minseok, can you please hit me up at this number,” he passes the paper to the man, “and make sure to have him booked on my name, too. For an entire day.” 

The man takes the paper. “Well, dear. Sure.” He grins, crookedly. 

Sehun receives the call from an unknown number three days later. The man introduces himself as Tyrel, and tells him that the young man is free and Sehun needs to pay within an hour so that he can have the young man. Sehun, instead of going to the University that day, goes to the building, pays the man, and finds the young man reading through some magazine on the bed. He clears his throat and sits on the edge of it. 

The young man places his bare legs on his lap, almost like he owns that. No one but him.

"Do you still don't want any sex?" The young man asks, sounding as if he has difficulty focusing on what's in front of him. 

Sehun eyes the red marks all over his exposed neck in silence. He looks away immediately. Sehun wonders if he's thinking about that Minseok guy and the time spent with him. It brings a sense of jealousy in him that he barely escapes the clutches of. "No," he answers. 

The young man looks up at him and huffs. "Do you even fancy boys or do you just come here to look at me?" Do I look like a girl? Do you want me to look like a girl?" 

Sehun tries to evade all his enquiries. "Does me not fucking you make you upset?" He asks instead, because the young man does sound disappointed every time he replies in a negative way. 

The young man flushes, embarrassed. "Men who come here only come for one purpose. That you know. I wonder what you want if you don't want sex." 

"I want a name," he answers. 

"Whose?" 

"Yours." 

"Why do you want my name?" 

He swallows. "Do you like living like this?" He asks instead. 

"Living like what?" 

"This, this way. The way you're living." 

The young man places his magazine on the bedside table. "You're in the room of a whore. That is what you want to be answered." When Sehun remains silent, he huffs and continues, the anger in his voice has subsided a lot. "No one likes spreading their legs for money."

He grimaces. "Do you," he stammers, "want to get out of here? Start a new life? Be someone and something else?" 

"I am stuck here," the young man answers, "for a very long time. This is what I am and will be for years to come.” The young man wrings his hands together. He seems nervous, his face is flushed, and his entire body shivers in what Sehun believes in some sort of excitement. “I would like to leave this life behind, however wishful that may sound to anyone. Even to me. This is not what I had in my mind when I came to Brooklyun.” He does not say anymore. 

Sehun settles better on the bed. He takes the young man’s hand in his own, and notices with heat in his belly the differences of their hands; the sizes, and the callousness of his own, and the softness of the young man’s. “Have you got some dreams?” 

The young man smiles, a curious lit of his petal-like mouth. “Everyone’s got a dream to live.” 

“What is yours?” He asks, he does not look up. He tries to make sure that the young man does not find shame in bearing his soul in front of him--even if he has paid for his time. He swallows, and runs his thumb over the delicate fingers of the young man. “What do you want to be?” 

It takes a while for the young man to speak, and when he does he mentions his most favorite customers. Sehun barely keeps the jealousy to himself. “Yixing and Minseok ask me that too,” he begins, “they always seem interested.” 

“Well, I am not enquiring about them, am I? I am enquiring about you and your dreams.” 

He must have sounded out of his composure because the young man laughs, as soft as it sounds Sehun thinks it’s a giggle if anything. Warmth spreads through his veins at the sound of it. “I have dreams, alright. But, they are not to be mine, so I have stopped dreaming altogether.” 

“What is the dream?” He keeps the young man’s hands trapped between his own. The young man’s hands are smaller than his, and his hands are paler than the young man’s; the contrast is so pretty Sehun almost tells him that they will look beautiful together. He keeps the words to himself. “What is the dream that keeps you up at night? What makes you want to leave this place and begin everything anew?” He grabs the young man’s wrists. “What do you want to be?” 

The young man answers nothing, and when Sehun finally dares to look into his eyes, he finds those beautiful eyes wide and watery, red on the edges; his nose and his cheeks are flushed red as well. Sehun brings a hand to rub a thumb over his bottom lip; it's soft to the touch, so soft that he is almost tempted to kiss the life out of the young man, for as long as the kiss demands. He rubs it over and over again, the desperation getting better of him. He brings his hand back. 

"Ballet," the young man answers. That's all he says for the rest of Sehun's time there. 

When it's time for him to leave, Nie calls after him, sleepy and tired. "Jongin," he says. 

Confused, he stops buttoning his jacket. "I am sorry?" 

"Jongin. My name." 

He swallows. His heart trembles in his chest. "Jongin," he breathes the name as if it's a song of his heart. "Jongin." 

Jongin smiles at him, and then snuggles back into the soft comforters. He does not leave until he is sure Jongin has fallen asleep, and when he does he leave, his heart and mind remain in that small room. 

Later, as he goes through his bank statement he knows he can easily afford freeing Jongin from that place without feeling a dent in his wallet. However, the question if Jongin even wants to leave that place haunts him--no, actually it does not. He knows Jongin wants to leave that place, he knows because Jongin himself said it, so the question remains: does he want Sehun to help him through it? With the question in his mind, he mono tonelessly goes through the routine of having dinner and getting ready for the bed. When he closes his eyes and breathes, he thinks of a name. He snaps open his eyes. 

Jongin. 

He thinks of Jongin. What a sweetheart name for a sweetheart such as him. 

He lies on his side and smiles, heart in his throat and hands fisted by his side as he reminisces about all that there is to Jongin. His sweet, soft skin that he definitely wants to have a taste of; his mouth, his soft cheeks, his hands, his feet, and his everything. He wants to kiss every inch that he can possibly reach; as far and as deep as possible; kiss him so that when he stops, Jongin yearns for his mouth and touch. Such and more are his desires; hold him down, make him cry in humiliation and want so that when he leaves, Jongin wishes for none but him only. There’s so much that he wants to do, so much that he wants to say. The amount of self restraint that he needs to hold himself back from doing so much to the young man when he sees him should be admirable; he has never been the one to hold back, and yet there’s something about this young man that makes him want to take it as slow as he possibly can. He is not one to deny himself the truth either, and so he tells himself he knows why his heart beats so rapidly and yearns so earnestly for the young man. 

He is in love, and he knows that. He will not deny himself the truth his heart so much wants him to accept. 

When he’s about to fall asleep, he tells himself he wants to see laces on the young man’s waist and wrists, black on his body, and choker on him. The dream that he dreams then is anything but innocent. 

The next day at the University Chris looks at him as if he knows what’s going in his head. “Do you ever wish to leave Brooklyn and settle in some fancy city?” His friend asks him instead. “I want to leave this shithole and settle in Washington or something. It would be better than this, if not extraordinarily amazing.” 

“No,” he answers, eyes fixed on his laptop, “I do not.” 

“Why, man,” he groans, “Brooklyn is anything but good. It’s a shit place. My girlfriend is done with all the looseheads going about the city, and I am done with the police doing nothing about all those who look dirty at my girlfriend. Do you see it? Brooklyn is not for living.” 

“Yet you came here,” he counters, not stopping his typing. 

“I came here because I could not afford living anywhere else. Now that I can, I want to leave and never return.” 

He huffs. “What do you want me to say?” 

“I want to hear your thoughts. Don’t you want to leave this place. You’re richer than me--you’re richer than most of the faculty members, man. Why do you even want to live here now?” 

There are a lot of reasons his mind comes up with, and yet it stops at just one reason; the one reason he has recently found, and if that reason asks him to leave, he will. Otherwise, Brooklyn is a nice place--if you can afford a fancy neighborhood that is. “I live alone, and in a rich neighborhood, Chris. I am fine where I am.” 

“Are you now?” Chris has a habit of going further and further, even if he knows he should not. He does not even remember how they became friends in the first place. All that he remembers is that they met, and became friends. How did it go in the beginning, he does not remember a single bit of it. “You don’t look like you enjoy yourself here a lot.” 

He sighs. “I don’t know what you want to hear, but I don’t feel the need to go and settle anywhere else than where I currently am.” 

Chris holds up his hands to him in mock surrender. “Whatever you wish, Professor Oh.” 

He rolls his eyes and then huffs, then goes back to formating the papers. 

When he meets Jongin the next, he has a question on the tip of his tongue. Jongin is curled into him, and when he asks the question, he snuggles further. “If you could leave Brooklyn, where would you go?” 

Jongin fists the front of his shirt, his fingers twitch on his muscled stomach. Sehun feels the fingertips, and then wishes he will soon feel on his bare skin, too; desperate and pretty. Jongin’s hands are pretty, slim fingers and soft and delicate to the eyes. He must take a lot of care of them. It alights some fire low in his belly, he knows what it indicates. “Netherlands,” he answers. 

“Netherlands, why?” 

Jongin shrugs in his arms. “It's really pretty," he says at first, and then correcting his own statement, he adds; "just want to go there.” 

“Well, it’s a pretty place,” he agrees. He shifts so they sit in front of each other. He takes Jongin’s hands in his own. Jongin stares at their hands curiously before he looks up at him. “Do you want to leave this place? I can… help.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Though his voice is soft, Sehun notices the hardness behind the words anyway. It’s more fear than anger, though. He knows because Jongin shows. "What do you want to imply?" 

"You don't want to stay here, is that not the truth?" He brings a hand to Jongin's face, and rubs the rough pads of his fingers over the softness of his cheek. "I want to bring you out of here." 

"Then cage me where?" 

He swallows. There's a lot of things he can say in his answer, however he knows none of them would appease Jongin. "Nowhere," he answers, sincerely. Because that is the truth: he will not stop him if he wants to be free; even if he wants to be away from him, he would let him go. "If you'll ever want to leave, you can."

Jongin has his mouth stretched in a pretty shape; it's gorgeous, everything that he does is. His smiles, though, are the prettiest. Everytime he sees that pretty curve, his heart just melts right. It is what it is for him. 

"That's kind of you," he says, "daddy," he adds in a murmur. That’s all he says. 

When he leaves that day, he makes sure Jongin is sleeping. While he sleeps, he watches in silence. Jongin remains curled like a small ball on the bed, under the fluffy blankets, so soft, pure, and out of the world he wonders how he even got lucky enough to come across him several weeks ago. Whatever the luck was, it’s his now; it’s what brought him here to him. He runs his hands over the silky strands, and then curls a hand on the soft, smooth cheek. Sehun wants to cover him in all the riches; from top to the bottom, so much that he feels like a god. If he would want, Sehun would worship him, too. 

The next day, as his days usually are, he drinks his coffee and sits in the now empty classroom. The class ended just now, he had given his students assignments, and he needed to prepare more to prepare the students for the exams that would come two months later. He tells himself that they have enough time, and goes back to thinking about certain someone for a very long time. He thinks this part of his life--thinking about Jongin, getting to spend time with him, and everything else in between--sticks like a sore thumb between the monotone activities of his daily life. 

All that his life consists of in all his living years is simple, and boring; anyone would leave the life he lives for a life in the seaside, even if it pays much less than what he earns. His day begins at four o'clock when he freshens up, goes for a long hour of jog before he comes back to workout at the gym he has made in his home; he cooks breakfast, he eats it, he bathes, and them gets ready for the University (the schedule changes a bit for a Sunday), he teaches, comes back, freshens up, cooks his dinner (or sometimes orders it), freshens up again, and then goes to sleep. He sleeps the night, and waits to begin everything all over again the next day. 

That’s how his life is, and has been for as long as he remembers. 

But with the arrival of Jongin, much has changed. That is what makes his life a little easier to live and breathe. The medrocity of his life, as meaningless as it once had been, seems like it has found a base, a meaning, and a reasoning to it that was impossible to find once. The dead seem alive, and perhaps that is why he finds himself more and more in the room of Jongin than at the place he once worshipped, the University ground. 

When he visits Jongin next, he seems excited to him see him for the first time; there's some kind of bubbliness in his smiles, and his jumpy self that sets all nerves right in their places, he relaxes, and wonders if he can kiss Jongin all over his pretty skin and make him sing all the songs he wants him to sing for him. His voice would be honey-like; because he seems so soft, butterfly, and honey-like.   
  
Sehun wants to kiss him. He will sure as hell do so one of these days. He will. 

Jongin grabs his hands to pull him inside the room when he takes his sweet time to do so. "I imagined myself in Paris!" He exclaims, jumpy and excited like a puppy. He pushes him to sit on the bed before crawling on his lap. "I went through some pictures--and… I want to visit Paris first." He claps his hands. "It's pretty!" 

"That's right," he answers and swallows, "but did you think about that?" 

Jongon shyly plays with the buttons of his shirt. "Yes, I did." 

He swallows again, body high as if in fever or as if he's on drugs. "What do you say?" His hands automatically find their way around Jongin's tiny waist, fingers twitching to be bolder and touch the heaven that the young man hides behind the flimsy excuse of clothes he wears. He stops. He knows he can wait. He has to wait. He can wait, he tells himself. 

"Will you not tire of me?"

"I will tire out of my life first," he swears. 

Jongin seems flattered with the reply. He smiles, beautiful as the bright sunshine. He's so bright, Sehun thinks, I am going to be blinded by you, my heart. "Yeah, I'd like to leave. With you."

Sehun brings him away. 

He pays the money, Jongin stands beside him, in awe and barely contained happiness--the puppy that he is--and jumps on his feet as the owner stares wide-eyed at both of them before he personally escorts them out of the building. “Oh my god, Sehun,” he squeals when they finally come out. That’s all that he says in the entire day. Sehun gives him his own room, a lavish bedroom that has Jongin surprised, and he shows it too. He shows he’s grateful, and for more than a reason it lights a fire low in his belly. He knows what it is, and so now that Jongin is constantly present with him, he spends more and more time in the cold shower; stopping himself from even imagining things that he knows may disturb the flow in his mostly constant hours of the day. 

Jongin spends most of his time in the garden near the place and whenever he’s free, he watches him glow under every setting. Jongin is beautiful, he reminds himself over and over again, yet when he looks at him, he finds himself surprised and confused. How can someone be so pretty? He has had his fair share of affairs, with enough good looking people, yet with Jongin he questions if he has ever appreciated Beauty in its purest form or not. Perhaps not. Perhaps that is why Jongin is here to remind him that. 

When he comes home from a long day at the University, Jongin is waiting for him at the door; dressed in his expensive silken clothes, clothes that sometimes are risque and clothes that often than not make him question his own sanity, looking pretty from head to toe. Then he calls him “daddy”. Sehun finds himself done in situations such as those. It’s almost like Jongin’s playing with the strings that makes him vulnerable, but all of it is so subtle and done with such delicacy that he often finds himself lost rather than confused. Jongin does not talk much, he just stares; around him, at himself in the mirror, and then at Sehun; the latter he does the most. He stares at him with unbidden emotions, and the more the time that passes between them, the more Sehun returns all that he gives. 

Yet, they don’t kiss. For several weeks. 

They tip-toe around each other, they play their own games--and none wins. Because, they know it will not be stopped, they know they are just delaying it; some moments, he would be desperate enough to show it, some moments it will be Jongin. Yet, Sehun thinks, he finds himself the happiest with Jongin. Even when they don’t kiss, even when he has to hold himself back from doing the young man silly, he knows he’s the happiest he has been in his entire life. Why? He knows why, but he would not say it aloud in fear that the winds would carry his confession to Jongin. Jongin is lovely while he’s mediocre at best. Or so he tells himself. 

(If he would spend some time trying to understand the feeling in Jongin’s eyes, he would know there’s unshakeable devotion in the young man for him; it’s for him to see and for him to return.) 

Though it seems most unlikely to happen this particular day, it is on this day when they first kiss. 

Jongin has his hands pocketed in his trousers when he stops by the mini office he has made at home. He is whistling some sort of tune and though he appears calm, cool, and collected, Sehun knows he’s anything but. He’s distracted, and he has tons on his head. That is exactly why when Jongin asks him the question, he does not find himself surprised. 

“You don’t want to kiss me?” Is exactly what he asks, pouty-mouthed, and perched in front of him on the chair. 

He flushes, eyes drifting to the exposed skin of the young man before he finds those beautiful brown eyes again. “You want me to kiss you?” 

Jongin pouts harder, if possible. Sehun believes he’s cutest. “I asked why don’t you kiss me! You have all the chance to do so, and yet you don’t. Don’t you ever think that upsets me? this behaviour of yours.” 

He raises an eyebrow, amused. “It upsets you? My behaviour upsets you?” 

Jongin deflates a little, his face flushed red. “You know,” he begins, “it’s not every day that I want to kiss someone. Now that I can be exclusive with someone, finally! you are denying me that.” 

He is so bratty, he thinks. He remains silent. 

He excludes nervous energy about himself. “I want to kiss you,” he says; “I want you to kiss me.” He licks his bottom lip, nervously. His face is flushed red, and his body is shivering in need. Sehun holds him dear for that. “Daddy,” he adds in a whisper. 

It’s like the patience finally snaps, and though wanting to do so much more than kiss the boy right this second, he holds back and beckons the young man near him. Jongin shyly comes to him, almost small and unsure though by no means he’s small in height, and crawls into his lap. Having this, having him on his lap, is… something that even the immense knowledge that he has cannot explain. It’s peaceful; though the weight of him has yet to get familiar with Sehun’s soul, it brings him satisfaction like nothing brings anyway. He has his arms around the tiny waist when Jongin kisses him. When he kisses back, hungry and greedy, they don’t stop for a long time. 

After that, he dreams of Jongin’s mouth; it does not matter what he’s doing, or how busy a situation demands him to be, he thinks of his mouth all the time. He thinks of how lovely it is, pink and plush, cute and petals-like. He thinks of kissing them. He thinks of touching that mouth. He thinks of doing… things to that mouth. Then, finally, as the mind always takes the last dip, shameless as it is, he thinks of that mouth wrapped around one anatomy of his. It’s risque enough that he has to distract himself, physically shake him out of the wonders of such dreams. Most of the time he succeeds, he has great self control as he has known in the recent times, but sometimes he does not. Those are the times when he wakes up at night to take cold showers, even during the colder months of the year. 

Then, Jongin starts taking huge chunks of his attention, definitely not surprising, and the kisses he begs for, and the eyes that he makes every time he leaves for the University does not let him live in peace. He tells himself he needs to do something about it, but he does not want Jongin to feel used either. If he wants, he can take the last penny in his bank account, but he would not ask for anything in return until Jongin demands him first. 

Then, Jongin, of course, breaks. 

In between that, Chris is the first to break the silence between them. Sehun does not tell him what he has done several weeks ago, but Chris does not need to be told. He knows. Chris munches on his chicken, he looks exhausted, but his eyes are fixed on him anyway. “You brought the boy home, did you not?” 

“I did, so what?”

Chris raises his arms in surrender. “No need to get defensive, man! I am just asking,” he stops and leans over the table. “When can I meet him?” 

He narrows his eyes at his friend. “Never.” 

Chris grins. “You know what! I will be there, at your place, this evening! Congratulations to you, you’ll get a guest after such a long period.” He claps his hands together. He no more looks exhausted. “You really fell for that boy, did you not. He must be something special then. Because I remember you, you, not paying Anna a minute of the hour she was with you. Believe me when I say this, but even my girlfriend knows she’s superior. She’s a delight. Yet, you--” he rolls his eyes, “I want to see the boy, today or tomorrow, does not matter.” Chris crosses his arms over his chest, and then suddenly narrows his eyes at him. Sehun rolls his own eyes. “Oey!” He exclaims, “are you that, you know…” 

“That, what?” 

“Sugar Daddy! Are you his sugar daddy?” 

He flushes, and looks around to see if someone has heard. Chris shrieks in laughter, finding amusement in something that he cannot find a logic behind. “You are hopeless, Chris.” 

He roars in laughter, attracting the attention of other professors. They frown at Chris, though none of them bother him because Chris is known throughout for being obnoxious. “I can’t believe it, you manwhore!” 

Exactly two months later after he brings Jongin at his place, he finds them seated on his bed. Jongin earlier, after dinner, asked him if he could sleep with him instead, for the night, and he said yes--because he can never say no to that face, even in his sleep. Jongin is playing with his fingers, he looks concentrated in what he’s doing but Sehun knows he’s distracted. “I, sometimes wonder,” the young man begins after a while, “if Yixing and Minseok miss me.” 

The name brings jealousy to his veins. He locks his jaw tight and stares out of the window. Only one thought runs wild in his head: they had him before me. 

Jongin clasps their hands together and shakes it as if they were in a business meeting. He looks happy doing that. Sehun wonders how something so childish could be so endearing. “I mean, they were the most loyal to me, you know. They looked like they could give me the world if I asked for it. But I still wonder if they think about me. Do they remember me or have they forgotten me already?” 

He holds Jongin’s hand tighter in his hold, feeling incredibly possessive even though he does not need to. “I don’t know,” he answers, gruffly. 

Jongin pouts, probably sad about it all. “But!” He says, bright-eyed, and cheerful, “I am glad I got you. You are the sweetest man I have ever come across, daddy.” The jealousy leaves the second Jongin calls him that, and another kind of fire takes its place. Jongin crawls up to him, his face mere inches away from his own. “Daddy,” he whispers, pouty-mouthed and wide-eyed, “I appreciate everything that you have done for me.” He swallows, and he seems honest this second; grateful, sure, but he seems vulnerable this second. “No one has ever…” he stops and blinks back the tears, He clears his throat and ducks his head a little. “Won’t you kiss me… everywhere?” 

Sehun knows if he wants he can easily talk Jongin out of this (but he does not know why he would want that), but he does not. He thinks Jongin must have been thinking of something before he decided to ask for this, and yet when he looks into those eyes, he knows he will not stop now that he has been given permission. So, without a lick of patience left (he never has when it comes to Jongin anyway), he pushes Jongin on the bed, hovers over his smaller frame, and kisses him like he has nothing best to do. 

All the while Jongin lies underneath him, both clothed and naked, he shakes, sighs, and sings all the songs he makes him sing. If he leaves marks on every inch of Jongin’s unblemished skin then that’s their business and no other human’s. 

The next morning, Jongin asks him if he can join the dance classes. He says he has always wanted to try Ballet, and since one institute is near anyway, maybe he can. He shows his puppy self doing so; all pouty mouthed and beautiful, watery eyes. He says ‘yes’ quickly, but then he sits up all of a sudden, confused and hurt by one particular thought. “Did you,” he begins, “did you have sex because you wanted to…” 

“No, what!” Jongin exclaims and sits up as well, though with a slight wince. He blushes but controls his expressions soon anyway. “I did it because I wanted to,” he shyly confesses, “I have wanted to for a long time. At first I wondered if you did not want me at all, but then I… noticed some things, and I thought I should ask.” His voice gets breathier and shier the more words he speaks. “It was very good.” 

He laughs, he could not help it. “Thanks for rating me.” 

Jongin laughs, too, though in embarrassment. “It was not a rating! I just wanted to tell you you did good.” 

“Just good, eh?” He teases, but then smoothes Jongin’s anxiousness with a loving kiss to his forehead. "Of course you can go join the, er, academy is it? You don't have to ask, baby." He rubs a thumb over Jongin's cheek, and marvels at the sight of softness of it. He is so pretty, he thinks and not for the first time. "Whatever you want is yours." 

"Come here," he says. Jongin crawls into his lap. He brings his hands, paler and rougher in comparison to Jongin's smooth skin. He rubs his hands over the young man's naked butt, and Jongin shivers under the movements of them. Sehun is not surprised. The poor thing must be sore and sensitive there. He is proud. Jongin makes him feel like a Man. 

"Do you want something else? Anything? Clothes. Jewelry. Shoes. Watches--” 

“I think I will ask when I want something.” 

He runs his hands over Jongin’s thighs, now much distracted by what he has on his lap. “Yeah. Yeah. Good.” Jongin smiles against his temple, his lips soft and sweet on his skin. Sehun believes there’s much more they both want to say, but right now--he allows them what they have. “So, wanna go another round?” Jongin smothers a laugh against his temple. 

Life with Jongin is easier than he expected, and just as tumtulous: first, because there’s so much to know about him; second, there’s so much to develop between them as well. When he comes home, he thinks, Jongin is waiting for him like a little doll, dressed in his silks or whatever new expensive cloth he has bought. Sometimes he's out for his ballet classes, but most of the time he is at home by the time he comes back from the University. Sometimes he would pick him up from the academy, Jongin, all beautiful and flush from the hard work he has done in the studio, would run into his arms. It’s pretty with Jongin, it always is. 

“Will you not show me it someday?” 

He has picked him up from the studio that day as well. Jongin had insisted in the morning before he left for the University, and he relented. Of course, he did. It’s hard, and becomes impossible, after that pouty mouth. 

“Oh, I will! I will.” He nods his head. “But, I am still learning, and I have to learn so much.” 

“Your teacher says you’re the best he has ever taught, and he’s, like,” he brings his arm away from Jongin’s waist to give a small movement; “he’s like one of the most respected. Him saying that makes me believe you’re just too shy to show me.” He brings a hand to Jongin’s cheek. “You don’t have to shy away from me, baby. Everything that you do is breathtaking. In the purest form.” 

Jongi snuggles into the curve of his hand. There’s red on his face, he is bashful. “Yeah, I will. Someday. Soon.” 

“I will be waiting.” He opens the door for him. “Do you want to go somewhere?” 

“Yeah, I guess.” He wrings his hands together, and then pulls the long sleeves over his hands. “To my former apartment.” 

Jongin’s older apartment is in a shitty alley, Sehun does not have a better way to describe the condition of the buildings around and of the street itself. People are too loud here, it’s almost as if they think the world is their daddy’s. He cringes at every new swear he hears, and rolls his eyes when people bump into him but don’t apologize. Jongin leads him to a particular building, they climb up the stairs and Jongin finally stops in front of one. “Not used to this, eh?” He says, and laughs a little when he makes an apologetic face. “That’s alright, I don’t wish anyone to live like this either.” He opens the door. “It’s better on the inside, though.” 

It is. Much better than the outside. The walls are painted in red, though they look like they’re coming away in some places, and there are only a couple of pieces of furniture in the only room. The bed is small and the windows are closed. There are two doors, one is probably for the bathroom and the other one probably leads to the little balcony which he guesses everyone in this building have. Jongin opens all the windows. The room smells a little fresher after that. 

“I painted it all red,” Jongin says, “the landlord never allows anyone to do any improvement here, even though that’s all that this place needs.” 

“You painted it on your own?” He asks curiously, “Everything?” 

“Everything,” Jongin confirms. 

“Everything,” he repeats, eyeing the dust gathered around the place. When a thought hits him, he turns to Jongin, the question on the tip of his tongue. 

Jongin answers him before he can be given a question. “It’s before I started living there--” there is the place he found him first--“before everything started there.” He sighs and looks out of the window. This second, he looks sad; sadder than he ever did. Sehun closes the distance between them so that he can seize him in his arms. “I know it’s not much, but this is what I could afford that time with what little I was earning.” 

“What did you do?” 

“I was a singer at a bar,” Jongin answers, and he sounds embarrassed about it. Sehun kisses him on the side of his neck to soothe his anxiousness. “Though I was fairly popular, it was not enough. You can’t expect bars to pay you much anyway, no matter how talented you are.” 

He runs a hand in Jongin’s hair, gentle and soothing. “Why were you there?” 

“My father,” Jongin sighs, “it may sound cliche, but my father did that to me. He took too much money from Karen, the owner’s wife, but could not afford to pay back. Their son, Mark, saw me performing at the bar and asked my father for me. He gave me to them. That is how I started existing there.” 

“Your own father did that to you?” 

“He was desperate,” Jongin defends his father, “and I understand.” 

He pulls back, angry and upset at the easy acceptance. “How can you say that after what he did to you?” 

“Well, I cannot exactly stay angry at him after all these years, can I?” 

“Jongin,” he exclaims, disbelief in his voice, “do you even hear yourself? Do you even know what you’re saying?” 

“I certainly do,” he answers, though sadder this time; “I do, Sehun. I understand. Even though the last years have not been easy on me, I understand him.” 

He throws his hands in the air. “I don’t know!” 

“My mother had cancer, Sehun,” Jongin says, sadly, tears in his voice, “and America’s healthcare system sucks, alright. It made my family poor. He needed money for her treatment,” he sounds bitter now, “my father, he got cancer, too. Now he was desperate. Not for his wife. Not for himself. But for me. He did not want me to live a life with a hundred different loans. That is why he took so much money from Karen.” 

“Yet, that is exactly what he gave you,” he fights back, voice gruff and almost in a snarl, “in fact, he did worse for you. He sold you in a whore house so that you could spread your legs for every man that gave you money to do it. He made a whore out of you. How’s that good?” He understands a second later the words he used. He snaps his mouth shut as, suddenly, all tension bleeds out of his body at the sight of the expression Jongin wears. He looks hurt. 

“You do know how to remind me of my place, Sehun.” 

“Jongin…” he says, softly, apologetically. “I do not mean anything bad by it. I just…” 

“I am tired,” he says, “I am tired, would you take me to your home, please? I would like to rest for a while.” 

“Jongin,” he tries again, and swallows. There’s a certain hollowness in his chest, now that Jongin stands on the other side, almost on the verge of tears, he tells himself he will wage a war against the world if he does not talk to him anymore. “Jongin. Doll, I am sorry. I am fucking sorry. Look at me, please.” 

"I am not even surprised that you don't look at me past my past. Why do you pretend to be okay then, if what you always think of me as nothing but a whore you picked out of that whorehouse, because you have the money and the whore is desperate to get out of there!" Jongin snaps, he looks hurt. He does not even look at him. Perhaps he would slap him if he does. Sehun believes he would deserve such. “I will come on my own. I do not need you.” He remains still for a moment before he repeats his words, firmer this time, "I do not need you! Do you hear me? I do not." He throws his hands at him, if he were any near, Jongin would have hit in his passionate anger. "I will pay you your money back. Until some time ago, I had to pay someone else. Now, I will pay you." 

"Jongin," he sighs his name, anxiously. “I did not mean that.” 

“I will come on my own,” he announces, firmly this time, “I will come on my own. I am not coming with you.” He does not cast him a glance before he leaves. 

Chris seemes bemused when Sehun meets him an hour later. He does not look impressed, he doesn't even look like he has got anything to say. Yet, Sehun’s words provoke him to speak, and speaking he does. “It’s not like I have an idea what actually went between you two,” he starts, “but, um, look, Sehun. There are ways to approach some things. Jongin is not like us,” he looks uncomfortable as he continues, “you need to approach him a little differently. In fact, the best course of action is to let him begin it himself.” 

He sighs. “I didn't mean it that way. He misunderstood.” 

“Tell him that, not me.” Chris shrugs. 

He passes him a mean look for the lack of support, but understands the implication anyway. They need to talk, but Jongin needs to begin it. He just needs to apologize. He can do that. Geez. He can do anything for his boy at this stage. 

When Jongin arrives at their home in the late evening, while he remains restless throughout the hours Jongin remains missing, Jongin hugs him tight. Then kisses him. It confuses him, because his boy does not look like he wants to fight anymore. If anything, he looks like he is willing to surrender to him after all that he must have been thinking in the past several hours. 

Although it concerns him a lot, it also lights a fire low in his belly. Jongin wants to submit. He wants to take it. Everything that he wants to give. 

Jongin looks guilty when he speaks. "I thought a lot about what you said," he begins carefully, "and I think I understand why you said what you did." 

He swallows. "My intentions were never to hurt you." 

"I know," Jongin agrees softly, "I know that, but," he shakes his head, "it's fine. I did a lot of thinking, and guess what I believe now?" He does not wait for Sehun to answer. "I understand why you said what you, and why what my father did should never have happened." He wrings his hands together. "You see, you can't run away from what you have been taught all your life. I was taught to respect my father, and I did and perhaps still do, and so it was never easy for me to find a fault in him. Does that not make sense to you? How could I fight what I fear and love the most, no matter how undeserving they are of such devotion. He has done so much for me, more than anyone else has. His way of finding me freedom perhaps was wrong," he hesitates a little; "his way was most definitely wrong, but he was lost too.

"How could I justify my hate for him? If he was not there, I would not have been here." 

There's so much that Sehun finds fault in, perhaps he would stumble into Jongin's personal space and thoughts to tell him why, sometimes, it's important to let go. However, knowing that Jongin's devotion for his father probably exceeds every other emotion in him, he keeps his silence. Jongin does not want to hear what he needs to hear that most, and he has no right to push him through what he is not ready for. Maybe. Not now. Perhaps later. Maybe. 

"You have to let this go," Jongin insists, tearfully. He does not meet his eyes. "You have to. Accept it." He wrings his hands together. "I was a whore, and I entirely didn't hate it. I met some good clients who were nice to me, both in bed and in the ways of treating me with dignity. If you can't come to accept that, I don't know how this will ever go on."

His voice sounds pained, and Sehun has always been soft for him. "I won't." He swallows. "I don't think about it that way, Jongin. Never did, and never will. It came out offensive because my beliefs are a little different…" 

"Also because he wasn't your father." 

He agrees with a little smile. "That is true," he takes Jongin's hand in his own. "I never had to have that argument with myself that you probably did, probably still do. Jongin, I am sorry, I never meant to hurt you," he adds. 

"I know that." He brings his hands closer and clasps them together. "Anyway, enough about this." Jongin remains a little jumpy for a while, before he nods. "I thought about it, and I believe you need to know everything about me before you tell me everything about yourself. I think that should work for us." 

"It's a decision made alone," he teases, "how do you know I am ready to share anything about myself? Did I ever say it to you?" 

Jongin grins, a sweet thing on his plush mouth. "The thing is, you don't need to say anything. I just know it." 

Do they both disclose everything? No, they don't. It is supposed to stay that way for a long time; Jongin, as much as he has already told him, has more to say yet he keeps his silence because he needs the time, good thing Sehun has a lot of it; he does not say much because he has nothing to share: he led a normal life, with normal set of parents, in wealth, and thus lived a life not much adventurous but the same as millions lead. 

It is only when Jongin invites him to his first dance performance, something that Sehun does not understand the basics of, two months later in the Central Grand Hall in the heart of Brooklyn known for its performances and hundreds of performers that Sehun realizes Jongin has actually forgiven him. He sits in the back, dressed in his expensive suit, while he waits for Jongin's performance. Then, exactly forty-five minutes later, came his performance. He grins, stupidly proud. 

Chris finds him in the University canteen two days after the performance; he looks extra cherry, and responsible. Like an actual man. 

"Hey, man," he greets Sehun, "guess what? I am happy."

He raises an eyebrow. "What is that supposed to mean?" 

"We are leaving Brooklyn," he announces, "finally," he adds. Then sighs. "I will miss you, Sehun."

"That was quick," he tilts his head, "when did you guys even decide?" 

"While you were busy spending special time with your honey." Chris rolls his eyes. Sehun grins. "It's cool though. Doesn't matter."

He nods his head. "When are you leaving?"

"This weekend. I am done with everything in the University, gotta say bye to my students and faculty members before I leave this place finally." He looks at him, curiously, "I suggest you leave, too. There's a much better place outside Brooklyn."

"I'll take my chance." He smiles at his friend. "Wanna meet my honey before you guys leave?" 

"Oh, fuck yes."

Jongin makes a better friend with Serena than with Chris; that's probably because Serena is better at being a conscious adult than Chris himself. It's not that Chris, for a man his age, is childish, but he does not know that sometimes what might be jokes for him could not be for others. He runs his mouth like a deranged asshole. Serena keeps him in check. Jongin naturally takes a liking of her more than he does of her boyfriend. However, he only shares his number with Chris, conscious of the relationship of his own boyfriend's friend's relationship with the woman and of his own upbringing. They can exchange numbers later, he tells Sehun. 

They send off the couple together on the same weekend. 

Sehun and Jongin come closer. Than before. 

It is one evening when he is at home, and Jongin is too—courtesy of his swollen ankle after dancing for hours throughout the weeks—present next to him while he grades hus students papers and Jongin paints his nails in black that Jongin goes, in a sweet voice, cherry and self-assured, "you're my boyfriend, right." It's not a question, it is not meant to sound like one, but a statement. 

It takes him a while to understand what he means, and what that little statement (not a question, he repeats in his head) implies. He looks up at the younger man, eyebrows drawn together, and lips pulling up to resemble a pleased smile that allow less of what he truly feels. "If you want us to be…" His heart is full and heavy, and so it demands more courage in his voice, but his throat is dry and his words wet. He barely thinks straight. 

Jongin looks up once he is done, and at him. "Well, boyfriend," he says, "you're really handsome." 

He laughs, "you are, too. Pretty. Beautiful." His voice gets serious the more he speaks, heavier and truthful. "The beauty of yours," he stops and says no more. He grabs Jongin's hands, and presses kisses to his now dried painted nails. Jongin's hands look pretty in such, and Sehun does not find it in him to question when he learnt to do so. 

"Boyfriend." 

Sehun thinks it's cliche to say this, but when he sees the sparkles in Jongin's eyes and the shy, but graceful smile on his lovely mouth, he knows their story has only begun now. There's more to come. 


End file.
